Ohiya

The sound of the rain on the tea

The mist

The walk

The colonial homestead....a thousand stories....the bath tubs, the fire, the factory, the tea and the tea-pickers.

The train ride from Ella through the mountains to Ohiya passes through stunning countryside. Incredible mountains are carpeted in tea bushes and rocky outcrops. The result, manicured mountainsides, the tea neatly pruned all at the same height. Huge boulders sit in the mountainsides, seemingly held up by the surrounding tea plants. We have the seat at the very back of the train, facing backwards, a huge observation window let's us see all.

The station arrives all too quickly, the two hours passing by in no time at all. A tuk tuk from the isolated station to our guest house in Ohiya takes about half an hour. We travel up. Up the mountain, slowly. We can feel the cool air as we elevate. When the road seemingly runs out, the drivers change and we descend into a valley. It's a steep drop off, down a very bumpy gravelled road. The scenery is stunning...it's best not to look down.

The hills again are blanketed in tea. It's incredible how steep the land is. How on earth do the pickers even get to these plants?

When we arrive we marvel at the stunning outlook. Below there's a small village, a deserted tea factory and, in the distance, an old colonial homestead with no roof. We have to explore this place!

We set off on a walk. The elderly man running the place, Karu, is heading to the shop. We accompany him.

He tells us the ' big house ' burned down. ...everywhere there's a story, my head starts spinning. This whole valley has been planted in tea. Who by? What's the history of the house, the factory, the owners of this valley? How did the fire start? As we walk along my head wants to invent stories, characters...but here I'll stick to what I know...not much!

Karu has never walked around the ruins, perhaps it's an adventure for him too. The house was once magnificent. Two huge cast iron baths still sit amongst the rubble. The kitchen bench still remains, it's about four meters long and made out of a red stone...incredible. There's a few chimneys still standing but several have fallen. Vines try to swallow the building, cows graze around. About three meters away the tea is neatly clipped and controlled, inside these broken walls there is no control, it feels wild and untamed.

Clouds start to threaten and the mist begins to roll in. We head to the village shop; a few biscuits and a warm soft drink from his display in the window. We wend our way back up hill and down valley through steep narrow paths rowed in vegetables and tea. The gnarly old tea (camellia family) bushes are a feat themselves. Some grow In next to no soil and their twisted and tired trunks cling to the cliffs. As an uncut plant it can grow up to ten meters high. Here they are pruned regularly keeping them at about one meter.

Tea pickers surround our 'house' when we return. There is such a stillness in the valley. Just the sound of their agile fingers snapping off the three top leaves and a shoot. When their hands are full they stretch over their shoulders and place the picked leaves in their sack (held on by a strap over their head). As the mist rolls up the valley the view disappears as do the tea pickers. They head to the shed, it's the end of a long day. Now to carry the sacks, not one, but two or three ( at 13 kilos each) on their head, up the steep road, the same road I puffed and panted up a while before!

The sound of the rain on the tea is relaxing and I take it all in In slow breaths with a cup of tea. Sleep comes easily. The rain falls steadily and the thunder and lightning light up the valley.

When I stay in a place of such beauty, I wake regularly. I have to get up and check it all out. The view is still there each time I check, but it's never the same!

We leave early in the morning to head to Horton Plains. ...maybe we will see a Who or at least hear one!

On the way up the mountain to the gates of the national park, we see deer, monkeys and the rooster look alike, the jungle fowl , feeling pretty lucky!

Horton plains national park is situated 2000m above sea level. The plains are covered in grasslands and bamboo patches. theres also patches of forest.

The walk to Worlds End takes us through some great forest. The ruby rhododendrons are a real treat. 'Worlds end is virtually a straight drop off of 880m. It's important to get there early, at least before 10am, before the clouds roll in and cover the amazing view. We made it. It's the steep escarpment and consequential clouds that feed this ecosystem. It's silent and beautiful.

There are no more elephants in this park. They were all hunted out by the colonialists in the 1920's. The museum here is called Far Lodge, it used to be the hunting lodge. One such hunter, a plantation manager by the name of Robson,is credited alone to have shot 1400 elephants. His karma was that he was struck by lightning in the field, his grave overgrown and neglected, has since been struck twice by lightning cracking the headstone...

 

Did we hear a Who?

Sure did!

Did we rescue it?

...no need...Horton already had!

Our work is elsewhere...

 

On the fifteenth of May, in the jungle of Nool,

In the heat of the day, in the cool of the pool,

He was splashing…enjoying the jungle’s great joys…

When Horton the elephant heard a small noise.

So Horton stopped splashing. He looked towards the sound.

“That’s funny,” thought Horton. “There’s no one around.”

Then he heard it again! Just a very faint yelp

As if some tiny person were calling for help.

“I’ll help you,” said Horton. “But who are you? Where?”

He looked and he looked. He could see nothing there

But a small speck of dust blowing past though the air.

“I say!” murmured Horton. “I’ve never heard tell

Of a small speck of dust that is able to yell.

So you know what I think?…Why, I think that there must

Be someone on top of that small speck of dust!

Some sort of a creature of very small size,

too small to be seen by an elephant’s eyes…

“…some poor little person who’s shaking with fear

That he’ll blow in the pool! He has no way to steer!

I’ll just have to save him. Because, after all,

A person’s a person, no matter how small.”

So, gently, and using the greatest of care,

The elephant stretched his great trunk through the air,

And he lifted the dust speck and carried it over

And placed it down, safe, on a very soft clover.

With thanks to Dr Seuss who always inspires me with such great philosophies..... I will always stand up for the little people...

 

 

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